


Naked

by WroughtBetwixt



Series: JohnWard Prompts [17]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Chronic Illness, Cybernetics, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Exploration, Fluff and Angst, Implied Sexual Content, Injury, M/M, Pre-Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D., Scars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-01
Updated: 2014-10-01
Packaged: 2018-02-19 11:40:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2387012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WroughtBetwixt/pseuds/WroughtBetwixt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>That was the magic. With Grant, there was always a choice, a real choice; there was no coercion, no guilt, no expectation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Naked

**Author's Note:**

> Slight difference from canon: I'm aware that in canon Garrett had all his limbs, but that was changed here to more accurately reflect the horrific damage an IED can cause. Sorry for any confusion. <3

John knew Grant wouldn’t make him do it. 

That was the magic. With Grant, there was always a choice, a real choice; there was no coercion, no guilt, no expectation. If John said fuck it and backed out, Grant would be the picture of understanding, giving John a smile and inviting him to bed anyways. They had, after all, gone over four years without John ever removing a single bit of clothing in Grant’s presence, beyond whatever was necessary. Grant had never asked about it, allowing John to tell his story when he was ready. Even when their relationship had taken a turn for the sexual, Grant made sure that John was always perfectly in control of their environment, and for John, that meant keeping as much clothing on as possible... until now. 

No one had seen him like this, not since Sarajevo. He’d expected to keep it that way. After all, a man like himself, in a condition like he was in? Regardless of what he wanted for himself, who was going to want him? But then Grant strolled onto the scene, with that eager devotion, quick mind, and those golden-brown eyes that seemed to see right through John, accepting whatever was found. Grant, who’s only negative reaction to John’s story--and condition-- was a dark, seething anger towards SHIELD. Now the twenty-year-old was stretched out on the bed, their bed, with faint moonlight turning his pale skin silver. He was watching John, patient as ever, and looking at John like Grant had found the most precious treasure in the world. It made John tremble. Taking a slow breath, John removed his shirt first, dropping it onto the floor before he could think too much about it. His hands shook as he unzipped his jeans, pushing them and his boxers off his hips and down; the glow of light from his prosthetic legs danced along the room as he stepped out of his clothes and stood there, shivering, waiting.

Grant moved off the bed, walking to John and leaning close enough to ghost a warm breath along John’s jaw. “May I touch you?” he asked quietly. “It’s okay to say no.”

“Yes,” John replied, voice shaking just as badly as his body. “You may.”

He reached out, stroking John’s cheek; John let out a breath, leaning into Grant’s hand and feeling his nerves relax at the gentle touch. Grant’s other hand reached up, trailing along John’s jaw and moving down to the edge of the burn. Fingertips followed the burn down John’s shoulder, chest and side, stopping where flesh ended and metal began. The burn traveled down John’s arm, and Grant knew it also twisted along John’s back and down his other arm, a gift the IED gave John for trying to shield his face from the fire. 

This wasn’t anything Grant hadn’t seen before, but he explored it as if it were new, stroking along the edges of the metal and following it down, down, down. John’s breath hitched; it always sent chills of pleasure down his spine, and he found himself reaching back, fingers curling around Grant’s hips. Grant moved closer, his fingers slipping down to explore what he hadn’t seen of John before. Along John’s hip, just below the metal, was a thick scar that came from under the metal, across the hip and just under John’s navel. It was deep, jagged. There were more burn scars along John’s outer thighs, disappearing under the edges of the Cybertek legs. Grant touched the metal, making a small sound that John knew meant Grant was angry. About what? John didn’t know, and right then, he was too afraid to ask. But then Grant’s fingers were moving upwards, tracing the scars back up John’s side. There was no hesitation, no disgust, and when Grant rested his hands on either side of John’s face, the only emotion he could see on Grant’s face was the same emotion that had been there when they started: love. 

“I want you,” Grant murmured. Their gazes met, and the tenderness there made John’s vision blur. “I always have, Garrett. I still do.”

John closed his eyes as Grant gently brushed away silent tears. “Then I’m yours.”

Grant leaned in, giving him a slow, soft kiss. John curled his arms around Grant’s waist and pulled him close, moaning quietly into Grant’s mouth as bare skin touched bare skin. That was all the encouragement it took for Grant to pull them into the bed, pressing John onto his back and deepening the kiss. It had been so long, so goddamn long, and John whimpered as Grant slid between his thighs.

An age of miracles, indeed.


End file.
